


A New Beginning

by Vagabond



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Old Age, Post-Finale, Post-Series, because I'm a sap, they got a cabin in the woods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 20:28:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7121452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagabond/pseuds/Vagabond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harold never believed he would live to see the last quarter of his life, but he is warming to the idea five years after Samaritan has fallen and the Machine is gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A New Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous asked: Rinch prompt: Some time in the future an aging Finch is starting to have trouble getting around due to his injuries. Reese is happy to help out, and make sure Finch makes the proper adjustments. /Um, hopefully this is okay c:
> 
> This is 100% okay and so, so fluffy. Thank you.

Age was not kind to injuries and Harold experienced it most mornings, especially in the winter during the snowy season. There had been a time where he believed he would die at the hands of Samaritan, or the government, or perhaps even one of his friends, and would never have to experience the last quarter of his life. Yet Samaritan had fallen five years previous, the Machine going down with it as she sacrificed herself for the good the people she had been built to protect, and Harold Finch still lived. His back still ached.

Sprawled on the bed, Harold took in the blurry world around him. From the window, light slipped into the room. The curtain had been drawn back to let in the day and Harold glanced at the clock. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept until ten in the morning. With a sigh, he pushed up from the bed and swung his legs over the edge onto the floor. He grabbed his glasses from the nightstand, put them into place, then carefully rose to his feet.

His back protested, a sharp pain dulling into an ache as gravity tried to pull him down. First he limped slowly to the bathroom and took the pills already set out for the morning. Then he relieved himself, washed his hands, and made his way to the window. A new blanket of snow had been laid out over the yard, covering what had barely begun to melt. He had been snowed in for three days, tucked away in Upstate New York far away from the City, and other than his stiff joints, he didn’t really mind it. 

The floorboards creaked behind him and Harold smiled. John’s arms wound around his waist as he nuzzled along Harold’s hairline and pressed a kiss to his temple. 

“I was going to bring you breakfast in bed,” John murmured and Harold glanced to the side to take in the hard lines of John’s face outlined in the morning sunlight. 

“You’ve brought me breakfast in bed every day since we’ve been snowed in, Mr. Reese,” Harold admonished. “It is good for me to get up. I’m surprised you allowed me to sleep in for so long.” 

“It is the first time in a week you didn’t spend all night tossing and turning,” John replied, “I didn’t have the heart to wake you up once you were comfortable.” 

In the time they had been together post-Samaritan, Harold wondered if they would last. It was one thing to be together with death set not too far in front of them. It was a whole different ordeal to be together for the foreseeable future, with death a nebulous and faraway thing. The dynamic switched, and five years later Harold still gave in to John’s gentle touches, quiet looks, and his tendency to fuss. 

John stepped back, a warm hand splayed against Harold’s back. “Come on,” he encouraged, “since you’re so insistent on dashing my plans, we might as well make it to the table before breakfast gets cold.” 

Harold allowed John to lead him, supported by a strong arm around his waist. Though Harold’s body was on a path of betrayal, John’s still remained strong. He left Harold’s side once they made it to the breakfast bar in the kitchen and pulled out a chair for him. With a hand from John to help, Harold made it up onto the tall bar chair and settled. He watched as John made his way back around to the area by the stove. 

John presented him with breakfast fit for a king. He’d made an omelette with bacon and cheese, garnished with green onion and perfectly folded. A little bowl on the plate beside it was filled with various berries, taken from the stash they had frozen over the summer months. Of course, in the remaining space, was a mini waffle drizzled with syrup. John’s plate mirrored Harold’s as he settled onto the chair beside him. 

“This is, as always, delightful,” Harold said and took in the way John’s eyes lit up. 

With breakfast finished, John tidied up the kitchen while Harold perused the paper that still managed to make it onto their front porch, even in the snow. The clank of dishes and pans became the background music to his morning as he skimmed over current events. He came out of his little world when John’s strong hands rested on his shoulders and his skilled fingers pressed into knotted muscle. 

“John?” Harold asked, but leaned back into the touch. John did not reply. Instead, he worked. A year and a half ago he had taken a class to learn about basic massage techniques, and his web browser had been filled with search requests on how to ease back pain through touch. Harold did not quite understand how he’d earned a partner like John, but as his hands worked a particularly tense and painful grouping of muscles where neck met back, he was extremely grateful. 

They remained like that for a while, John’s hands working magic that rubbed away the primary aching. His medication had kicked in too, providing him momentary reprieve from otherwise constant pain. Finally, John squeezed his shoulders and kissed the side of his head. He then offered his hand, which Harold took, and they made their way out into the sitting room. This time Harold didn’t need help. 

He settled on the couch facing a large window which overlooked the snowy front yard. The property sat on just under an acre, tucked away near a wooded area where John and Bear, who lay on his dog bed snoozing near the couch, would go during the warm months to explore. John would always return smelling like trees and sunlight. Bear usually smelled like wet dog. Of course it was night and day compared to the City, but after the final events of their battle, and the end of the numbers, they decided retiring far away from the cement jungle would be good for them both. 

John, who disappeared from the room, returned with a blanket in hand and dropped down onto the couch beside Harold. He unfolded the blanket and draped it over them both, their thighs pressed together beneath it. Harold picked up his book from the side table while John leaned into him. Halfway through the chapter, Harold glanced at John’s head on his shoulder and smiled when he realized he’d fallen asleep. 

Perhaps they were both beginning to show their age. 

A long afternoon spent on the couch turned into an evening marked by the kindling of their fireplace. The wood John dragged in from out in their woodshed (Bear naturally at his heels, carrying a smaller piece of wood in his mouth) crackled and popped as the fire grew. Harold took some time to admire the view from where he stood by the window, having gotten up to stretch his legs and chase the stiffness out of his bones. 

John sat on his knees in front of the fire place, armed with a poker and an extra log. Bear sat politely beside him, eyes fixed on the fire, glancing away only when John moved to add the final log and put the fireplace door up to restrain the flames. He rose and looked over to meet Harold’s gaze, and Harold couldn’t help but smile. John’s hair was more silver than black now, the corners of his eyes wrinkled from his wry smiles, his face older, more worn, yet his eyes still held a youthful spark that set Harold’s heart ablaze. 

Once the fire died down and they’d eaten a light dinner, Harold took John to bed early and enjoyed the way he yielded to every touch. It always surprised Harold that a man as strong as John would melt under the gentlest affection. Though a small part of Harold liked to believe only his touch drew this out of John. It went slowly, focused more on touches of lips and fingertips to skin, until they both rocked together, Harold buried deep in John who always so willingly adjusted position to make it easy. 

They finished and lay flat on their backs, breathing evening out slowly. John’s fingertips trailed over Harold’s chest and along his belly in a way that made him shiver. 

Eventually, John would slip out of bed and let Bear out one last time. He would put out the remaining coals, do one final check that all the doors were locked, then return to bed. Harold would take his nighttime medication, arrange the pillows on the bed to better support him through the night, and settle in for sleep. It was all so routine, so ordinary, and Harold decided he was okay with it as John’s weight settled against his side.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to drop me a Person of Interest prompt on [MY TUMBLR](http://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/ask).


End file.
